


The First & Best Cordelia

by bleustocking



Category: Cordelia (Movie Poster)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bodice-Ripper, F/M, Gothic, Human/Vampire Relationship, Movie Poster, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleustocking/pseuds/bleustocking
Summary: “You don’t age,” Johnny muttered. “You don’t go out in the daytime. You’re a vampire —”“Only emotionally,” she replied.
Relationships: Cordelia/Original Male Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The First & Best Cordelia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainellie/gifts).



The news that Lady Cordelia Last had come home at last percolated through the small pub where Johnny had taken shelter from the December gales. Johnny was a newcomer in the village, here to put his dead uncle’s estate in order. He knew nothing of this village or its legends, but the awe with which the locals said her name — _Lady Cordelia Last_ — did not escape his notice. 

“What’s the story of the lady, then? Of Cordelia Last?” Johnny said brightly, and the barkeep, a red-faced and friendly man named Stewart, narrowed his eyes and told him gruffly to be careful how he spoke of her ladyship.

“She is the last of our gentry-folk, but we do not forget what she has done for us,” said Stewart’s wife, Mary-Anne, with a pious frown. 

“She’s quite old, I’d imagine,” Johnny said. “Does she employ the village? Pay for the children's education? Open up her house for tours?” 

“She does all that and more, young lad,” said one of the hoary old men who lingered by the bar. He pointed his crooked finger at Johnny’s face. “No one would dare go against her ladyship.” 

“I’m sure her patronage is very valuable,” Johnny said, inching away from the waving finger. 

“The house is _not_ open for touring,” said Mary-Anne. “It hasn’t been since I was a little girl and that boy Frank disappeared in the hedge maze. Despite her ladyship’s warnings, he always thought he knew best.” 

She looked at Johnny meaningfully. 

Johnny, abashed, muttered an apology for his presumption. He wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing _for_ — except for his ignorance — but eventually, it seemed as though he would be forgiven. 

Nonetheless, he was alarmed the next morning at a sharp rap at his door. When he cautiously opened it, he saw a footman — a bizarre enough sight in these modern times — who handed him a sealed letter and walked away, ignoring Johnny’s questions. 

The letter, or rather note, was from Lady Cordelia Last, inviting Johnny for lunch. 

Naturally, with his curiosity now roused, he accepted. 

*

Belmont House was a Gothic pile, built in 1795 from the foundations of a far older building that had mysteriously burned down. The Last family had made it their home since the beginning of the last century, and Cordelia was the very last of them all. All of this was explained to Johnny as soon as he stepped through the door, by an aged retainer whose quavering voice seemed to echo loudly through the empty, stony house as Johnny followed him deeper and deeper in. 

It was a grey and rainy day, the sun having made a feeble showing in the morning before disappearing into a bank of dark clouds. They were having tea in the conservatory, which would have been charming on a sunny day. Today, it was as if they were in a damp, dark tropical forest, under a dense canopy. 

As soon as Johnny entered, his glasses fogged up and he had to take them off. And so his first sight of Cordelia was a blurred and sinuous suggestion of a woman with pale hair and hazel eyes. Her dress shimmered in the heat — for it had to be hot here, didn't it? Otherwise, the flush Johnny felt run through his body made little enough sense. 

“Are you all right?” she asked him, and just from the tone of her voice, he knew. Alpha. She was an alpha and Johnny was in trouble. 

No. That was old-fashioned thinking. Johnny’s heat had always been well-controlled and he had never yet found an alpha who would change everything for him, as conventional wisdom said they would. They were always missing something.

With a start, he realized that something might simply have been that they weren’t _her._

He blinked and apologized hastily, fumbling with his glasses. “I’m sorry — I’m staring at you like a fool.” 

She looked at him, her head slightly cocked. He had the feeling that she understood everything that had happened to him and was amused by it.

Indeed, a slight smile graced her face, which was pale and sharply drawn. She was not quite beautiful, or at least she was not the sort of beauty that Johnny had been taught to admire. But her aura was so powerful that he could confidently say it didn’t matter. She was the most powerful person he had ever been in the presence of, and she knew it. 

“Would you like a seat? Hill will bring you some water,” she said. She reached out and touched his hand. A light touch, and yet — he gasped at the feeling of it. Her burning presence, the smell of her perfume. Jasmine, he thought, with hints of ylang-ylang. The stinging sweetness of night-blooming flowers. 

Johnny felt dizzy and found himself falling. She reached out and held him. She was so strong that he wanted nothing more than to lean into that touch, to bury himself in her richness.

But he fainted instead. 

*

When Johnny came to again, he was in a bedroom with green wallpaper with subtle circular patterns. He stared at the wallpaper for longer than he perhaps should’ve. He was reminded of an old story he’d read once for school, about a poor omega who had gone mad because of the wallpaper in the attic she had been kept in. But, Johnny remembered, the wallpaper was just a metaphor for — _something_. 

The doctor came and Johnny was embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t been the most careful about his suppressants. Ever since he and Adele had parted ways, it never seemed to be such an urgent matter. Nonetheless, he received an emergency dose and promised to be a good boy in the future. Once the doctor had departed, Lady Cordelia Last swept in. 

“I hope you’re feeling better,” she said as she drifted to the marble fireplace. Johnny doubted that she heard his assertions that he was; however, when he said that he would be going now, she turned back to him. 

“It’s already dark, the rain is coming down,” she observed, moving to the window and sweeping open the curtains. Johnny was bewildered. Surely he hadn’t been out for that long? But apparently, he had been — after all, he had been very tired lately. His traitorous body had probably seized the chance for a nap. 

“I don’t mind going out in the rain,” Johnny assured her. “I have to get back to my uncle’s house.” 

“Will his estate fall apart if you’re not there for one night?” she asked, her mouth quirking upwards. He flushed, even though he had no idea why. He felt quite normal now, thank you. Her scent was faint now, less overwhelming. Even so, he _longed_ —

Well, it didn’t matter if he longed or not. It was ridiculous. They had just met, after all. The rain was coming down hard, he noticed, with the window panes rattling under the barrage. 

“Well, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Johnny began to say. 

“Good,” Cordelia said crisply as she headed for the door. “We dine at eight. Hill will bring you a change of clothes.” 

“Is that necessary?” Johnny asked. “I mean, unless there are more people coming for dinner.” 

“Oh no,” Cordelia replied. She smiled, sharp and faintly feral. “Just you, me, and the ghosts.” 

*

It seemed as though Johnny was the only one who ate at dinner. Cordelia drank sparingly from a glass of dark red wine. She watched him avidly, as if she was a hawk about to swoop in for the kill. After thirty minutes of feeling exactly like a rabbit, Johnny asked if something was wrong. 

“What could be wrong?” Cordelia asked, taking her last sip of wine. 

“You’re acting like a vampire. Staring at me,” Johnny said, putting down his cutlery on his plate. The pallid chicken and steamed vegetables weren't the best meal he had ever had, but the wine that had come with it was excellent. It wasn’t, he noticed, red or as thick as blood, like hers. Cordelia licked her lips, the color of her wine bringing some color to her face. 

“Do you believe in vampires, Mr. Underhill?” 

“Not until today, Lady Cordelia.” 

She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, which looked as hungry as ever. “I am very much alive, I assure you. It’s only that I have — a very light appetite.” 

Later, Johnny couldn’t quite remember if there had been a sign or some indication of what was to follow. He thought, perhaps, the entire thrust of the evening had been coming to this point. Cordelia had offered to show him the library. He had accepted. They wandered through the manor as the lights above them flickered. Cordelia carried a lamp with her — with an ironical lift of her shoulder, she said that the house had been imperfectly electrified a hundred years ago. It paid to be careful. 

The library was unlike the rather dreary corridors they had left. It was a jewel box of a room, with a fire already lit. There was a painting of Cordelia — or perhaps an ancestor of hers, given the old-fashioned outfit she wore — hung over the fireplace. 

“You’ve got a face for a ruff,” Johnny said, because he had to say something. She laughed, a low sound that made something in Johnny shiver in excitement. Then she bumped up against him, hip to hip. 

He was intensely aware where his body stood near hers, her heat. When she turned to speak to him, he almost startled. When she leaned in to kiss him, he almost protested. It was too quick, too intense. And yet when her mouth touched his, he could only sigh against it. She pushed him back, his back pressed against the bookshelves.

Cordelia tasted of wine and promises, intoxicating and maddening. When she pulled away, he followed her.

There was a faint cough from the door. It was Hill. “You have a telephone call, your ladyship.”

Johnny _burned_ with embarrassment. It was as if he had been caught with his cock out, even though he was still perfectly clothed. Cordelia herself was not entirely unaffected. There was a faint spot of color on her face. She straightened herself up and flashed Johnny a quick smile. Then, she was gone. 

Johnny could finally breathe when the door closed behind her.

He had never felt this way before. Quickly reviewing his old relationships, Johnny thought that he was a rather pragmatic chap. Despite his status as an omega, he had never allowed himself to be carried away with either lust or love. But this was completely different. He had never thought that indulging his whim of visiting the mistress of Belmont would overturn his self-perception this way.

As he was thinking this, Johnny was brooding beside the fireplace, which was a massive slab of marble and polished wood. He fancied he could see faces in the fire, but surely that was just his imagination.

Johnny frowned and looked closer. The face grew stronger and it seemed that it was a man, rather like himself. The stranger’s lips moved, as if he wanted to say something. 

Quickly, Johnny backed away but the figure reached for him. In a terrible voice that seemed to rattle from the depths of hell, the figure said, “She’s dangerous. Don’t trust her — ask her about Frank.”

Johnny took a poker from the fireplace stand and beat back the fire with viciousness that was unexpected even to himself. When Cordelia returned from her phone call, he was ready to receive her.

*

The next few weeks dissolved like smoke on the water. Johnny saw much more of Cordelia, either when he was summoned to Belmont House for dinner or when she arrived at his door at dusk, faintly smiling. He nearly passed out from shock the first time — he had held on to an obscure belief that she couldn’t possibly exist outside the boundaries of her home.

“Won’t you let me in?” she asked in a low voice. Johnny blinked and muttered his apologies. He was about to invite her in before the thought occurred to him. 

He leaned back against the door, feeling a sort of dark thrill run through his body. It was rare that he should have some kind of leverage in this relationship. “Would you be able to come in if I didn’t invite you?” 

She raised a delicate eyebrow and took a step forward, the point of her shoe crossing the threshold of Johnny’s cottage. “I can,” she said confidently, “but it would be impolite to go against your wishes.”

“Please come in, then,” Johnny said, swinging the door open. 

She did. 

*

Johnny’s heat felt like a fog that he brought along with him wherever he went. He and Cordelia had decided that he would ease off the suppressants for a week, to see if it would work between them. It had. They had fucked at least twice, but he’d gotten up and showered, and put on clothes to feel a little more in control. In daylight, Cordelia made herself unavailable. 

Johnny used that time to wander through the manor. He found more portraits of Cordelia — or Cordelia’s ancestors, who happened to look exactly like her — from black and white photographs in silver-gilt frames on the piano, to gleaming 18th century oil paintings in the style of Gainsborough. 

Johnny paused in front of yet another portrait, this time the size of a paperback book — this wasn’t of Cordelia, but rather a fair-haired young man, who looked a bit like him. 

“That was Frank,” Cordelia said from behind him. Johnny turned to look at her. Her eyes gleamed green in the dark.

“An old lover?” he said, swallowing hard.

“An old soulmate,” she said — and for a moment, she looked sad. “You think what I do is deliberate, but I don’t. I can only be what I am.”

“You don’t age,” Johnny muttered. “You don’t go out in the daytime. You’re a vampire —”

“Only emotionally,” she replied. Then she pushed him against the wall. She rubbed up against him and kissed his neck. 

Johnny could feel the pin-prick of her teeth against his neck. “Do it,” he muttered, feeling drunk, feeling reckless. “Mark me or eat me, Cordelia. Just do it.”

“Dearest Johnny,” Cordelia said, “I could never eat you.”

Then she bit down, hard. 

It was ecstasy.

*

And so life continued on in the village and the manor, as it had for years and for centuries. Lady Cordelia Last presided over it all, as she always did — albeit with a new partner. All was how it ought to be — at least, for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta!


End file.
